


different paths eventually converge

by hotchnya (tsunbrownie)



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Suits (US TV)
Genre: M/M, Two Ex-Prosecutors and Their Genius Boyfriends, far too many people wearing suits, harvey and hotch had a Thing when they were in the district attorney's office, harvey/hotch is in the past, hotch refuses to play poker with these people, spencer reid: what is flirting??? what is a relationship?????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 10:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16680214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunbrownie/pseuds/hotchnya
Summary: Hotch and Reid's alone 'victory drink' time in the bar is interrupted by someone from Hotch's past. Reid meets somebody who's a lot like him. Someone's not from Harvard.





	different paths eventually converge

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is dedicated to this one korean cm twitter person who got me thinking about harvey/hotch because.................. _damn_
> 
> this took me forever to finish but i got it. this is mostly 'i just want to see this happen so much' scenes woven together so some of them might feel..... off. i have no idea where this is during canon but it's past season 5 of cm and past season 3 of suits...... so

Another case, another city, another win that doesn't feel like a win because they weren't able to save all the victims. It's another usual day for the BAU, yet it doesn't stop hurting all the same, and that's why the entire team (sans Garcia, who, of course, is still in her bat cave in Quantico) hit the bar hoping that the alcohol would be able to flush some of those feelings out. Around the second hour, the team started to split up, some returning to their rooms early, some choosing to look around New York, and some choosing to mingle with other patrons in the bar. Soon enough, it was just Hotch and Spencer sitting side-by-side, sipping their glasses and making small talk, often lapsing into silence. The silence, although damning in many other times, is comforting - perhaps because of the company he's keeping. 

It doesn't last long. A man approaches the two of them. Black hair, playful expression, around Hotch's age, dressed in a full suit. He's not sure why he's dressed like that in a bar like this, but then Hotch is also dressed in his three piece suit. Spencer feels strangely under-dressed despite the fact he's overdressed compared to most of their fellow patrons. The Suit Man and Hotch's eyes meet, indicating some sort of familiarity, yet the other man turns to Spencer. He swallows, and really hopes this guy's not here to flirt with him. That'd be awkward. Especially awkward since his sorta-partner, maybe-lover, definitely-fuckbuddy (and boss) is standing right next next to him.

"Harvey Specter, Pearson Specter." The man offers a hand at Spencer's direction. Successful lawyer, Spencer catalogs in his mind as he glances down at the offered hand. 

"Spencer Reid, Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI," he awkwardly backs away from the limb and adds, "sorry, not a fan of hand shaking." That earns a laugh from the new guy. Okay, maybe he was wrong, maybe him looking at Hotch was like, _so is this guy your date or what? Can I steal him?_ instead of friendly eye contact.

Hotch must have read his discomfort, because he sighs and turns his body to face the new man. "Stop that, you're making my team member uncomfortable," Hotch reprimands, yet his voice turns warm and familial at the end. "Congratulations on getting your name on the wall," Hotch's murmurs, proving effectively that they are acquainted with each other. Someone Hotch knows, but Spencer doesn't, so they must've met as prosecutors. That's one life Hotch rarely mentions, unless he's pulling strings. He's intrigued. Specter's face lights up as he leans forward.

"Jessica thought it was time we got Hardman's name off the wall. Finally. How's DC? Still keeping the streets safe for the greater good?"

"Unlike you, corporate law isn't where my passion lies, so yes. How's that world treating you?"

"Best closer in the city," Specter shrugs, yet his eyes are sparking with energy. "Tell me when you get bored banging down doors, I could always get you a place at the firm."

"You only hire from Harvard," Hotch replies, amused. "And if I ever retired, corporate law is the _last_  thing I'd practice. Which you know already." 

"That I do," Specter admits. Then he turns to Spencer, who's been silently observing the entire conversation. "Sorry for hijacking into - what looks like a victory drink. Lot less alcohol than I'd imagine, but," Specter grins and his eyes flicker to a spot behind him, then back. "You look like a person with questions."

Spencer stares at the suited man and nods. "I've figured a lot of it out, but not all."

"Right, you work with him, don't you? _Profilers_. Tell me what you know, and I'll fill in any holes." Specter winks suggestively, which drags out a flinch out of Spencer. He can practically feel the glare Hotch is shooting at the other man's direction. 

Calming down the awkwardness blooming in his chest, he starts to ramble. "You two met as federal prosecutors - you were always in New York, and Hotch was in D.C., so it was probably an interstate crime that drew you two together. Obviously, you two have different ideals: you just like to win, Hotch likes to put criminals behind bars, but both of you have high intellect far beyond your peers, which is why you two were drawn to each other in the first place. That common factor is why you both left the federal prosecutor's office, while difference is why your career paths have splintered." 

"Damn, he's good, where did you pick him off of?" Specter jokes, leaning back against the barstool. "You're right, though. Did meet in the prosecutor's office. My sponsor thought it'd be good to have some experience from the other side before joining the firm."

"You're also good, especially considering you're not a profiler," Spencer says, staring at the other suit-clad man. 

"He's a sharp reader, always has been, even as a prosecutor. That's why he's so good at the job." Hotch throws a side glance at Specter. "Some people have to be trained to profile. Some people don't. Harvey's the latter." 

"Very useful when playing poker." 

"Ah yes," Hotch deadpans, " _don't play the odds, play the man._ " 

"You say that like it's a bad thing because you could never beat me on poker," Specter smirks. 

"I play the odds," Spencer pouts from the side. 

A head shake from Specter as he leans on the bar stool, observing Hotch thoughtfully. "Can't still believe you became a profiler. One hell of a career jump, federal prosecutor to SWAT agent. Then he just up and becomes a profiler after seeing David Rossi once." 

"I was already preparing to join, Dave asking me to join after we met was a nice surprise." 

"You call him Dave now?" With the faux jealousy, Spencer definitely knows they were more than friends, once upon a time. Which is weird, because Hotch is Hotch and he can't imagine him cheating on Haley. 

"I thought you loved Haley," Spencer squints, his face contorting into one of blatant confusion. 

"I did, but," Hotch makes a wry face and sips his drink again. "We did date for a very long time. Thirteen years. We had our on and off periods." 

"When we were fooling around, well, it was one of the off periods," Specter shrugs and makes sideways glance at Hotch's hand, a very subtle gesture but one that is not lost on two veteran profilers. He doesn't mention the lack of the ring. _Despite the overt flirting, the man is tactful_ , Spencer notes. Most likely, the flirting is etched into him, like a habit you can't abandon. Indicates multiple short term partners. Trust issues. 

"Your friend here has this expression here," Specter points at Spencer, and he realizes when Hotch said this man was a sharp reader, he wasn't kidding. He makes an apologetic face, trying to convey it's not like I can turn this off.

"Harvey?" A far younger voice resonates from behind him, about as old as Spencer is. Another man with a clean-cut suit, cheaper than one Specter is wearing but expensive enough to indicate that they're co-workers, appears and lands a hand on the other man's shoulders.

Before the introduction, Hotch interjects. " _You_ have a protégé?"

Specter pouts. "You take the fun out of everything, Hotchner. I think I preferred you when you were a prosecutor." He turns his body direction altogether at the new man. "Aaron, Spencer, this is Mike Ross, my associate from Pearson Hardman. Mike, Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid, profilers from the BAU." 

"Profilers?" Mike squeaks and jumps a little. Secret keeper.

"Don't worry, they mostly only deal with serial murderers, rapists and child kidnappers." Specter puts an assuring hand on Ross' shoulder. "Although, if I ask nicely, they may lend us handcuffs-" 

"Oh my god, you are screwing your protégé." Hotch blanks as the keys click in his head. 

"And you're screwing your subordinate." Specter leers, and Spencer genuinely jumps. "I have eyes, you know. And more importantly, I know Aaron. He's loved one person for twenty years, and he doesn't know subtle. I bet it took three seconds for your team to figure it out." At Hotch's glaring, he tacks on an extra sentence, "no, I did not hire him because he had a nice ass. I hired him because he was a genius."

"Who does not have a Harvard degree," Hotch adds with a flat face, and looking from the way Mike Ross twitches, Hotch is telling the truth. Spencer isn't sure how Hotch figured that out. "People with Harvard law degrees don't act like that," Hotch informs Spencer.

"Which is like what?" Specter questions, and Spencer understands. There is a certain lack of arrogance he definitely detects, and if he was a genius he'd have no reason not to be like Harvey Specter. When Ross keeps staring like a deer caught by headlight, the man puts an assuring hand on his shoulders. "Don't worry, Mike, he won't turn us in. Despite his strict morale, he won't turn us in."

"Why is that?" Hotch crosses his arms, but Spencer knows that the other man is right. Despite the law-enforcing personality Hotch is, after what has happened with Foyet, he's become far more lenient with crimes with no victims, and sometimes victims that deserve what they had coming. Providing leeway that weren't there before. 

"Because he's not doing any harm to anyone, and you'd need to quit profiling if you don't know he's a better man than I am. And with the horrors you see on the job..."

"My job _does_ make faking a law degree far less harmless than it is," Hotch concedes. "So, genius?"

"When I read something, I understand it. When I understand, I never forget." Mike shrugs. "I basically kicked Harvey's ass while playing hearts on the computer. After that, I've been saving his ass whenever he gets stuck with boxes of paperwork."  

Eidetic memory. Hotch scants his eyes to meet Spencer's. "So do I," Spencer murmurs and points his thumb at Hotch's general direction. "Whenever there's a lot to read on a case, this guy just drops them on my desk without saying anything."

"I bring coffee just like how you like it - more sugar than coffee," his boss adds. "I know how to utilize my resources. You're not the only one with a genius."

There's pride in Hotch's voice and he can't help but revel at it. Once upon a time, when Gideon was Unit Chief and Hotch was his right hand man, he was skeptical of Spencer, with his lack of firearms training and real life experience, acted like he'd burn out in the matter of weeks and run away to whatever academic life he came from. That, now that Spencer thinks about it, has been longer than ten years ago. "Eidetic memory, fast reader, six degrees," he sheepishly adds as he always does. He's not young now that people would question the number of degrees he has, or stare at him like he's an impossibility. 

"And how did you end up working for the FBI, out of everything you could have done?" Mike's eyes are wide and questioning. The man obviously hardly meets anyone who meets his standards, let alone exceeds it. The sparkles in his eyes are so obvious, like how a child would be like upon seeing candy. 

"I was pretty much plucked out straight from uni. Took a month or so to finish up the required BA in psychology, but the physical examinations..."

"Worst firearms score on the history of the FBI," Hotch adds. "He couldn't aim, not even after I personally trained him for three years. I remember being so upset when Gideon brought him aboard by signing off waivers on nearly every physical examination." 

"Saved your life afterwards, though," Spencer quips. He glances at the other two duo sitting across from them, the genius protege and the skilled corporate lawyer. "I'm more curious on how you ended up where you are if you don't have a law degree."

Specter and Ross meet each other's eyes, as if they're collaborating on a story. They probably are - a Harvard educated lawyer doesn't hire some kid from off the street, which suggested that their meeting was most likely dynamic and possibly illegal. It's the younger man who ends up explaining. "I was running from somebody, and I ended up bumping into Harvey. I proved my eidetic memory and then I kicked his ass. Impressing a very smart senior partner at some prestigious law firm is a good way to get yourself a job. Especially if that guy also has history climbing from deep bottom."

"Excuse me, working in the mail room is nothing compared to what you you were doing when you met me. And I actually went to Harvard Law." He glares at Ross before turning to Hotch again. "So. Not really the type of place I'd imagine you'd be."

"It was the closest to our hotel, and it's not like the FBI is overflowing with money. Why are you in this place? With your salary, you hardly have to hit some downtown joint for cheap alcohol." 

"Won a case. Since Mike did his job, I thought I'd let him choose the joint once. Never letting him do that ever again." After surviving a punch from the other man, Specter adds, "well, until I got to bump into you and your date."

"It wasn't a date, it was a victory drink." Spencer mumbles. "Just like you, Mr. Specter."

"Call me Harvey. This isn't the FBI, you're not at work. No need to distance yourself." 

"Oh, alright," Spencer awkwardly mumbles, "Harvey." It's awkward, but the mood lightens considerably at his change of address. The four of them - now complete with Harvey and Mike, who bring their own chairs to sit with them - and they converse about various topics, starting from their jobs and even discussing (although it's more of Harvey informing) how Harvey and Aaron were as prosecutors. 

"I swear to god, half of the Prosecutor's office was waiting for him to put a ring on her girlfriend's finger already. He called her twelve times a day, and sometimes it got so bad I had to put his phone on silent and hide it once. You don't - "

It is that moment when Aaron's phone rings, and he excuses himself from the conversation to get it. It's most likely their flight, and Hotch confirms it as he murmurs finality into the device and closes it. "Wheels up in forty, Spencer. We should be going now." 

"It's been nice seeing your face again after all these years, Aaron. You and your delightful associate," there's a playful tone in it, and Mike makes a dismissive sound from behind him. Spencer shares the fellow genius' sentiments. "Call me when you come to New York without a gruesome murder. The four of us could play poker or something." 

That suggestion makes Spencer's eyes twinkle. Harvey's obviously very good at it, and he rarely meets his match, the downside of having lived in Vegas as a child. Aaron, the fun breaker he is, interjects by saying, "you want to play poker with two geniuses with eidetic memory, one of whom spent their childhood in Las Vegas and has a mathematics degree?"

"Friendly game," Spencer quips, enjoying the grimace that dances across Aaron's face. He personally calls it the 'anyone else would be pouting' grimace face.

Aaron sighs his defeat. "I'll think about it. For now, we really must be going. Keep the embarrassing stories in my twenties to yourself, Harvey Specter. It was nice to meeting you, Mike."

"I'll keep him under control," Mike says with faux seriousness, which Harvey counters by making a face and saying, _remember that I am still your boss_. 

As Spencer and Aaron walk out the bar, thirty-six minutes left until they leave the city of New York behind to reach their homes, Spencer murmurs, "today has been more fun than I thought."

Aaron, as he fixes his scarf, surprisingly murmurs, "I agree." 

"We are totally doing that poker game, though."

"In your dreams, Spencer. You're a cheater."

**Author's Note:**

> you could also talk to me on twitter!


End file.
